


Practice Kisses

by mizdiz



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20398297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: Growing up is hard, but having a best friend makes it easier. But what do you do when you fall in love with her and the world forces you apart? How long can you hold a torch for someone before it finally burns out?





	1. The King and Queen of the Frogs

The only good thing about this place was the forest. That's what Daryl thought to himself as he trampled through the woods, branches and bushes snagging on his already ratty clothes. His noodly arms were scritch-scratched all up and down, and he had mud plastered on his shoes. 

God he loved it out here.

It was breezy out, cutting through some of the suffocating Georgia heat. The light wind felt good on the hot burn on his cheek from his daddy's lash. It wasn't too bad, as far as his daddy's beatings went, and it probably wouldn't scar, or at least would fade with time, but he hated that it was on his face. Of all places, why'd it have to be on the part of his body everybody could see? His daddy was usually more careful than that. The move must have had him off his game.

At least it was still a whole month before school started back up. Daryl hated the mere idea of going back to school. It was going to be awful. He was going to start his first year in junior high as the new kid in town in hand-me-down clothes from his brother and bruises on his cheeks. Fantastic.

He could only hope that no one knew about the fire. Daryl knew how small towns worked—if one person found out that his family had to move because his momma got drunk and burnt herself to death, it wouldn't be but a day or two before everyone was in on the gossip. New in town with hand-me-downs, bruises,  _ and _ a dead mom? He might as well just drop dead himself to avoid the torture. Not to mention it was only a matter of time before his daddy made a reputation for himself.

Daryl climbed a tree.

It was the best kind of climbing tree, with sturdy branches laid out like a ladder. He lifted himself higher and higher with ease, until he was nearly at the top. He sat against the trunk on a branch, one leg bent to his chest and the other dangling off the side. He rested his head back and closed his eyes, listening to the soft rustling of the leaves, and the chirping of the birds. It was such a relief to be out there all alone.

"How'd you get all the way up there?"

A voice from down below startled Daryl, and he caught himself just before he toppled off his tree branch. He peered down at the ground and saw a girl about his age staring up at him with her hands on her hips. Daryl frowned. Maybe if he didn't say anything back she'd leave and he could go back to his peaceful solitude.

"You're really high up, aren't you scared you're gonna fall?" the girl called out to him. So much for that, he thought.

"What do you want?" Daryl shouted down to her. The girl shrugged.

"Nothin'," she said. "I watched you climbing the tree and wanted to see how high you got."

"Well now you know, so you can go now."

"You don't gotta be mean about it," she said, and Daryl didn't reply. He leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree trunk and waited for her to leave.

"I haven't seen you around here before," came her voice not a moment later. Daryl groaned.

"Don't you got somewhere to be?" he said, glaring at her from his spot in the clouds.

"No," she said simply. "So are you new? Did you and your family move into the house on the other side of the woods?"

If you could call it a house, thought Daryl.

"Yeah. So what? What's it to you?"

"I live just past the the creek," she said. "We're neighbors."

"I ain't never talked to my neighbors before and I don't see no reason to start now," Daryl said with an air of finality. He turned his head and crossed his arms for good measure, hoping she'd finally get the hint.

"Wanna go catch frogs by the water with me?" she said then.

Daryl twisted his mouth. 

Catching frogs  _ did _ seem kinda cool.

"If I catch frogs with you will you promise to leave me alone?" he asked as a compromise. The girl shrugged.

"Maybe. Now c'mon."

She waved for him to join her. With a huff he unfurled himself and found his balance. He climbed back down the way he came. The final branch was a little too high for him to touch the ground, so he swung by his arms, dangling in the air, before letting go and landing on his feet. He wiped his hands off on his pants and regarded the girl properly for the first time.

She was an inch or so taller than him, with auburn curls pulled back into a bouncy ponytail. Her face was dusted in freckles, and she beamed at him with a toothy grin.

"I'm Carol," she said, thrusting her hand out at him. Daryl hesitated.

"...Daryl," he muttered, taking her hand for a split second before letting it drop.

"No kidding? We rhyme!" 

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well now you definitely have to hang out with me. Here, follow me and I'll show you the best place to catch frogs."

She turned on her heel and went towards a destination only she knew. Daryl chewed on his lower lip, debating. Finally, he started after her. 

_ For the frogs _ , he thought resolutely.

She led him through a thicket of dense bushes. Her hair snagged on a twig and she unstuck it with a huff. He kept a safe distance from her, trailing behind several steps, shuffling through the tight space, wiping spider webs off his arms.

They broke through the bushes into a small clearing where the creek ran south. She took a careful step over the edge of the shore onto a large stone. She found her balance and squatted down, motioning him over. He drummed his fingers against his thigh before rolling his eyes and joining her.

"Careful, some of them have algae on them and it makes them real slippery," Carol said as he found his own rocks to squat on.

"I know that," Daryl said defensively. He watched the water trickling past in a steady, leisurely stream. "This is where you catch 'em?"

"Yeah. They're all over the place. Look." She pointed out to the middle of the water. "See that one with its head poking out?"

Sure enough, there was a tiny head bobbing just barely above the water. Something upstream made a noise, and the frog ducked back down like a whack-a-mole. Daryl's hands itched to go looking for it. There was just something so appealing about the idea of catching a slimy, muddy frog for no reason that spoke to his eleven year old soul.

All of a sudden a splash came from beside him and he startled. He looked at Carol and saw her bent over her stone with both hands plunged forearm-deep in the water. She pulled them back up, and in her grasp was a squirmy, green frog. Daryl, who prided himself on his keen outdoor senses, was awash with jealousy.

"How'd you do that?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm the Queen of the Frogs," Carol said in response. Daryl scoffed.

"That's dumb," he mumbled.

She held the frog up to her face. "He's just jealous, isn't he?" she asked it. The frog tried to shimmy out of her grasp in response. To Daryl, she said, "You wanna hold it?"

He did, but he wasn't about to take her handout. If he was going to hold a frog it was going to be one he caught himself goddamnit. 

Instead of answering, he studied the water around him. It was green and opaque with mud and moss. He watched the surface diligently, waiting for any sign of movement…

Splash! A tiny head poked out and with cat-like reflexes Daryl shoved his hand into the creek. He felt the frog graze his fingers, before it swam down deeper and disappeared. Daryl scowled, pulling his hand back, embarrassed.

"You gotta use both hands," Carol said, still holding her frog to her chest. It had stopped moving and had resigned to its fate.

"I know how to catch frogs," Daryl said.

"Coulda fooled me," Carol said. She was joking, Daryl knew, but a flash of anger went through him, which quickly revealed itself as shame. He stood up straight, careful not to slip.

"I don't wanna play anymore," he said. "You have fun." He started back to dry land.

"Hey, wait a minute," Carol said, opening her hands and letting her frog leap free. "Don't go. I was just kidding, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Didn't hurt nothin', frog catchin' is just dumb," Daryl said, stepping onto the damp grass.

"Wasn't dumb to you a minute ago."

"Yeah, well, that was then."

"Daryl, don't—" but she was cut off by her own surprised yelp and a loud splash. Daryl spun around and saw her flat on her ass in the creek bed, her whole lower half submerged under water. Without thinking, Daryl climbed back down, walking across the stones, until he reached her.

"You okay?" he asked. "Need help up?"

"I'm fine," Carol said, cringing, making no moves to get out of the water. She bent her knee above the surface and hissed. Blood beaded out and dribbled down her leg.

"You tore that up pretty good," Daryl said, wincing in sympathy. "Lemme help you outta there."

"I can do it," she said stubbornly, trying to push herself up, only to get knocked back down by the current.

"C'mon," Daryl said, holding his hand out to her. With a sigh, Carol took it. Daryl stepped forward to pull her up, but he landed on a slick piece of algae and lost his footing. He fell forward, just barely missing Carol, his front plunging into the water, and his right elbow smacking into a rock.

"Fuck," Daryl said, rolling over and sitting in the creek bed like Carol. He examined his elbow and saw that it matched her knee, skinned all the way up his forearm.

"Ouch," Carol said, looking at his wound.

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, trying to keep a neutral face even as his arm throbbed.

"I guess you were right," Carol said. Daryl turned to her with a furrowed brow.

"'Bout what?"

"Catching frogs is dumb."

Daryl snorted, and she grinned in response. He rested his arm on his bent knees and sighed.

"Now what?" she asked. "Do we live here now?"

"Pro'ly gotta get up eventually."

"I got a  _ lot _ of water in my socks."

"Me too."

Suddenly, something leapt out of the water and landed on his leg. When it processed what it was he saw that it was a small frog, sitting on his knee like it owned the place.

"Ha!" Carol said, delighted. "I guess you didn't hafta catch 'em; they just come to you."

"Guess so," Daryl said, biting back a smile. Slowly, he took his good arm and hovered it above the frog. He snatched it up quick and held it in his hand, beaming on the inside. He looked to Carol and felt warm when he saw her approval.

"King of the Frogs," she said, and Daryl did smile at that, just a little.

"I think it peed on me," he said, as something that was not water dripped down his wrist. Carol giggled.

"Yeah, they do that."

"Stupid, ugly thing," Daryl said, admiring his frog with hearts in his eyes.

"You love it."

"I dunno, he's kinda cool."

"Take him home and put him in a box. You could keep him as a pet."

Daryl twisted his mouth.

"Nah," he said. "He belongs out here." 

With that, he unclenched his fist and watched his frog jump back into the water. He caught sight of his back legs pushing him under before he disappeared beneath the moss. 

"What happened to your face?" Carol asked then. Daryl averted his gaze with a shrug.

"I tried catchin' toads," he said. "Guess it's just as dangerous as catchin' frogs." He hazarded a glance at Carol. He could see in her eyes that she didn't believe him, but she laughed anyway, and didn't ask again.

"You're funny," she said, splashing him with water. "Wanna be friends?"

Daryl considered this. He'd never really had friends. Some of the kids in his old neighborhood would let him play sometimes, but they didn't like him all that much, and the feeling was mutual.

"I might not be good at bein' friends," he admitted, picking up a floating twig and stirring it in the water absently. "I can kinda be an asshole."

"That's okay," Carol said brightly. "I'll be your friend anyway, and I'll tell you if you're being mean."

He looked at her.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"Then okay, I guess. We can be friends."

Carol beamed at him.

"Will you show me how to climb trees?" she asked.

"Gotta get out of this creek first."

"We can do it," Carol said resolutely. "We're the Frog King and Queen. We can do anything."


	2. Memories within the Treehouse Walls

They never knew who the treehouse had originally belonged to. As the years passed by they would occasionally wonder if the owners would ever come back and reclaim the space Daryl and Carol had made their own. Sometimes, they'd make up stories; hypotheses about the people who abandoned the treehouse in the middle of the forest. Sometimes they'd be silly, trying to get a laugh out of the other, and sometimes they were spooky, especially whenever Halloween rolled around, but they never were rational. Both of them, though young, knew that more than likely their treehouse once belonged to some kids like them who grew up, like kids do, and left to go be adults, letting their old fortress collect dust.

But Daryl was certain they'd never let it collect dust. The treehouse had been the central figure of their friendship over the past three years, since almost day one, when they happened upon it when looking for low hanging branches to climb. 

When they first found it there was a lot of work that needed to be done. There were critters inside it, yellowing comic books strewn about, and the floorboards had become dangerously rickety. Their first summer together was spent putting the treehouse back together like new.

Daryl sat inside it then, fourteen years old now, with acne along his forehead, and a couple small cuts along his jawline from his razor he hadn't quite gotten the hang of. The inside of the treehouse had grown with them as they entered their teens. Early on they had personalized it with board games for kids, construction paper and markers for drawing and plotting adventures, and cool things they found in the woods. They used to talk about how maybe they'd find fossils if they dug deep enough, and they could hide them in the treehouse where no one would ever find them.

The treehouse now was full of magazines—hunting and outdoorsy ones for Daryl, and  _ Cosmo _ and other ones her parents forbid for Carol. The markers and construction paper had been replaced with notebooks and pens. On the walls there was a poster of a boy band Carol liked, and a deer skull Daryl had found and bleached. They had fishing poles in the corner, and two lanterns. They always kept sleeping bags and blankets and an inordinate amount of pillows stocked inside. Plus snacks. There were always snacks, no matter what age they were.

Daryl was leafing through an auto magazine, memorizing the different pieces that sat underneath the hood of a car, when he heard the latch door on the floor unlock. A moment later it opened and Carol popped up, pulling herself into the house.

"Hey," she said once she was inside, closing the door and dusting the dirt off her knees. Daryl nodded a greeting at her, sitting his magazine to the side. "Sorry I'm later than I said. Mom wouldn't let me go until I finished my chores."

"'S'fine," Daryl said, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his legs. 

"How was your daddy last night?" Carol asked, picking the fluffiest pillow to flop down on. She tucked it under her belly and looked at Daryl expectantly. He leaned back against the wall with a shrug.

"Came home drunk as a skunk and passed out 'fore he even noticed me," he said. 

"Mm," Carol hummed with a frown.

"Better than what he coulda done," he reminded her, and she conceded the point with a sad sigh.

"I hate him," she said fiercely, and a small grin played on Daryl's lips. Carol's loyalty knew no bounds. He was pretty sure she'd make a squirrel a sworn enemy if it looked at Daryl the wrong way. Ever since she punched Gabby Anderson in sixth grade and gave her a bloody nose for calling Daryl white trash, Daryl had known that friendship is not something Carol took lightly.

"Don't worry about it," he said, staving off her rant before it could begin. One of the best parts of the treehouse was that it was  _ theirs _ , and Daryl never liked to bring his father inside it. There were a few times over the years when they would slip into Deep conversation, and those were the times when Daryl was open and honest with Carol about what went on behind closed doors at home, but days for the big talks were far and few between, and he had no intention of making today one of them.

"Wanna hear what Abigail told me on the phone last night?" Carol asked then, doing as she did so well and reading Daryl like a book and quickly changing the subject now that she knew he was alright.

"Sure," Daryl said. Frankly, he didn't particularly care one way or another for gossip, because he didn't particularly care for any of his peers, Carol being the sole exception, but she liked to share with him, and Daryl  _ did _ like being the person Carol came to whenever she had something to say.

"She said that she and Johnny went to the county fair together on Saturday and he kissed her on the ferris wheel. Like, a real kiss; tongue and everything."

"Ew," Daryl said, wrinkling his nose at the thought of his classmates shoving their tongues down each other's throats.

Carol giggled at his reaction and asked, "Why ew?"

"I dunno," Daryl said, shrugging. "Why would you wanna swap spit with someone else? Seems real gross to me."

"You've never kissed a girl, then?" 

Daryl gave her a flat look.

"Like you wouldn't know if I had," he said. Carol knew everything about him, right down to his favorite type of socks. 

"Maybe you were shy about it and didn't wanna say, who knows?"

"Well I haven't. Who'd wanna kiss me anyways?"

"Stop that," Carol said, snatching up a spare pillow and chucking it at him. He blocked it with his arms and suppressed a grin.

"I'm just sayin'."

"Well don't. You aren't allowed to be mean to yourself, remember? That's strike one. If you get two more strikes this month I get to shove you into the creek."

"Pfft, I'd like to see you try," Daryl said, tossing the pillow back. A thought came to him then, and he chewed his lower lip, feeling shy. Finally, he asked, "Have you ever kissed a boy?"

"Like you wouldn't know if I had," Carol said, parroting his answer back to him. Daryl felt a sense of relief, but he didn't know why.

"Oh," was all he said. There was an off center beat of silence.

"Have you ever wondered what it'd be like?" Carol asked. Daryl furrowed his brow, ducking his head and picking at a cuticle.

"I dunno, not really," he said. He peered up at her. "Have you?"

"Sometimes," she said. She said it confidently, but her eyes betrayed her. "I wonder what the big deal is sometimes. A bunch of the other girls from class have kissed boys, and now that we're starting high school in a few weeks I bet more and more of them will, too."

"Who cares what them other people do?" 

"I don't care, not really. But...what if we're missing out on something?"

"If we are then I'm shit outta luck 'cause there ain't no girls 'sides you that even talk to me."

"Well…" Carol said, fiddling with a loose seam on her pillow. "What if you kissed  _ me _ ?"

Daryl’s heart leapt to his throat.

“What? he asked, mouth suddenly dry.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Carol said quickly. “We could do it just as practice.”

_ Practice? For what? _ Daryl thought. Despite Carol’s insistence, he wasn’t holding out hope of any girls lining up to play tonsil hockey with him. That being said, beneath the wealth of adrenaline now coursing through him, there wasn’t any genuine protest against the idea. On the contrary, when he thought about kissing Carol he felt...What did he feel? He wasn’t sure, but it closely resembled excitement. How bizarre, he thought, he hadn’t realized he was so curious about what kissing felt like.

“You can say no,” Carol said after Daryl stayed silent. Slowly, he shook his head.

“I ain’t sayin’ no,” he mumbled. “But...I ain’t got no clue on how to do it. Might be real bad at it.”

“That’s the point—neither of us do. If we do it together then we can learn without embarrassing ourselves in front of someone else.”

Daryl’s gut felt wobbly at the thought of Carol kissing someone else. Maybe he was worried that someone else might make fun of her if she did it wrong? Well, if that was the case, and he could help that not happen by practicing with her, shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that what someone did for their best friend?

“What kind of kissin’?” he asked, cheeks growing red.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean like...would it be with our mouths closed, or, you know, like…” He couldn’t get the words out.

“You mean would we kiss with our tongues?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, maybe we could try without it and then we could see if we wanna try it that way, too. That’s what other people we kiss will expect from us. We should learn how.”

Usually when Daryl thought about French kissing he got squeamish, but for some reason the thought of doing that with Carol sounded kind of...nice?

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” Carol asked, eyebrows raised in surprise, like she had expected more resistance from him.

“It matters to you,” Daryl said simply; that was why he was so gung ho about it, obviously.

“I don’t want to force you.”

“You’re not.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Daryl ducked his head, wringing his hands. “Do you wanna...when did you wanna try it?”

“I mean,” Carol said, clearing his throat. “Why wait?”

Daryl glanced at her, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Right now?” he asked, cringing when his voice cracked.

“We don’t gotta,” she said quickly.

“No, I want...I mean, it’s fine, we can.”

Carol nodded absently. A pregnant pause fell between them, neither teen sure of what was meant to happen next.

As if in slow motion, Daryl watched Carol sit up and push her cushy pillow to the side. She crawled over, breaching the short distance between them, and suddenly she was in front of him, sitting on her knees and drumming her fingers against her thighs.

“You gotta be the one to...I really dunno what to do,” Daryl admitted, heart going a million miles an hour.

“Okay,” Carol said, the word almost lot on her nervous breath. Tentatively, she lifted her arms and rested her hands on Daryl’s shoulders, and he fought hard to resist his impulse to tense at the touch. It was her, only her, and she wasn’t a threat.  _ She would never hurt me, _ he reminded himself, letting his muscles relax. Carol searched his face, uncertain.

“Go ahead,” Daryl muttered.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her fingers dug lightly into his skin as she tilted her head and leaned in. It couldn’t have been more than a second or two, but it felt like a lifetime for her to reach him. Then, her lips were against his. They kept their mouths clamped shut. They pressed their lips together hard, and then she pulled away with a singular, loud smacking sound. She looked at him with wide eyes, and he was sure his expression was the same. Her eyes darted to his mouth, and they came to a nonverbal agreement that they were going to try again.

He met her halfway this time. He made a conscious effort to keep his lips relaxed and pliable, and she did the same. The effect changed everything, the two of them fitting together like puzzle pieces. Without thinking about it, his hands went up to cup her face. His heart skipped a beat—maybe even two—when she parted her lips and ran her tongue along his. 

His whole body trembled as he mirrored the action. At first, he had no idea of how much tongue he was meant to use. He kissed sloppily until he focused and took notice of what Carol was doing. She was gentle with him, being modest, and it felt right. He dialed it back, going from stuffing his tongue in her mouth to lightly sliding it over hers.

He got it then, why people liked to kiss. All the parts that sounded gross in theory—the breath, the lips, the  _ intimacy _ —made butterflies flit around wildly in his belly.

Over the past few months, his body had been changing, his voice deepening, his chin sprouting hairs, but as he kissed Carol, his body reminded him of one of the more embarrassing changes. As the kiss got more intense, Carol scooted in closer, and there was no way she didn’t notice his reaction to her. He shoved her away sharply, his lips kiss-swollen and cheeks blood red. 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” he mumbled, pushing back until he was flush against the wall.

“No no, it’s fine,” Carol said, reaching out to him, but snatching her hand back when he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean... _ shit _ .”

“Daryl, it’s fine. It happens, right? That’s what they said in health—”

“I gotta get home,” he said, cutting her off. “I got, you know, chores and stuff.”

“Daryl, don’t be embarrassed. Maybe it means we were doing it right? It felt like it to me.”

It did to him too, clearly, as he discreetly adjusted his pants.

“I gotta go,” he said again. Carol opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. She nodded her assent. 

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Daryl practically scrambled out the door and down the ladder, feeling deeply ashamed. 

He didn’t see her again for two full days, and when he finally found the nerve to meet up with her again, they didn’t talk about what happened, and that’s how it remained: nothing but a secret neither one of them would acknowledge, known only to them—a shared memory left between the treehouse walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will be done by tomorrow. (i get to start writing scrap metal again tomorrow, btw!!!) but again, i had a finished chapter, so i was like, "fuck it," and threw it up here. i wrote half of this in the middle of a seminar about economic justice for domestic violence survivors. specifically the awkward boner part. jsyk.
> 
> k, stay tuned for the ending to this short little oneshotty story tomorrow.
> 
> hope u guys all saw some cool clouds today,
> 
> -diz


	3. Left to Collect Dust

Daryl's landline rang twice and then went silent. It was their signal. He and Carol never wanted to risk Daryl's daddy answering the phone. As far as his father was concerned, Daryl never had a friend in his entire sixteen years of life, and Daryl wanted to keep it that way. It was better for everyone involved.

His daddy wasn't home then, however. He'd been MIA for well over a day, and Daryl suspected he would stay that way until at least the weekend was over, when he would stumble home high or drunk or both and pick fights with Daryl to get a rise out of him, just for kicks.

Daryl went to the phone and dialed Carol's number and waited. She picked up right away.

"Hello?"

"It's me," he said, leaning against the wall and wrapping the phone cord around his finger. "You call?"

"Yeah. Your dad not home?"

"Nope. Dunno where he's at."

"So he wouldn't notice if you slipped out for a while?" 

"Pfft," Daryl said. "You know he don't give a damn either way. Your parents do, though, and it's gettin' late. You sure you won't get in trouble?"

"They're gone, too. They're at a wedding out of town and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh. Okay. You wanted to meet up, then?"

"If you were up to it. I got somethin' I wanted to ask you."

Daryl frowned.

"Why can't you just ask me now?"

"'Cause I wanna do it in person. It's not bad, but it's kinda weird."

A million different possibilities popped into Daryl's head, each of them more absurd and anxiety inducing than the last.

"Mkay," he said tentatively. "The tree, then?"

"Yeah. I can be there in fifteen minutes?"

"Aight. Meet you there."

He hung up the phone and had his shoes on and his house keys in his pocket before the second hand on the clock had even gone by twice.

—-

Daryl got to the treehouse fast, but Carol got there faster, and was already waiting for him when he crawled up through the door. There was a nervous energy about her. She sat in one of the bean bag chairs she’d insisted on them getting, and was bouncing her legs up and down.

The treehouse had continued to age with them. Carol’s old boy band poster had been replaced by a country artist she played often. Daryl had a trophy on display on the table—it was from an archery contest two towns over that Carol forced him to enter. He came in second and won twenty dollars, and he spent it all on junk food and a movie with Carol. It was the only award he’d ever won.

“What’s with you?” Daryl asked, dragging the other bean bag chair over and plopping down onto it across from her. She rubbed the nape of her neck and twisted her mouth.

“I wanna ask you something,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, and the way you’re actin’ gots me all nervous, so what’s up?”

Carol ducked her head and frowned at her lap. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and sighed deeply before managing to look at him again.

“I’m just gonna come out with it; no sense in beating around the bush,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Mkay,” Daryl said slowly, furrowing his brow. She swallowed hard.

“Will you have sex with me?” she asked. 

Daryl blinked at her. Surely he misheard.

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Caroll said quickly, holding up both hands. Daryl took a moment to let his brain catch up to the conversation.

“No, wait, why’re you sayin’ this?” he asked, shaking his head and stumbling over his words.

“I’m tired of being curious about it; of worrying about what it’ll be like,” she explained. “I was talking with Mary and she was saying how she was so nervous her first time ‘cause she and Isaac had only been dating a few weeks, and it got me thinking that it would make so much more sense to do it with someone you already know and trust. Someone like you.”

“You wanna...with  _ me _ ?” Daryl scrunched his face in bemusement. This wasn’t making a lick of sense.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she said quietly. “It can just be practice. Like before. When we were younger. Remember?”

He wasn’t likely to forget. He still got rocks in his gut whenever he thought about it. The memory would come to him now and then, often in the quiet of the night, just to taunt him with how stupid he had been that afternoon, running away from her in shame. And now she wanted to go all the way with him? Had she lost her mind?   
  


“Carol, I don’t...I can’t...I…” He couldn’t remember how to form a sentence.

“I get it, you don’t want to, that’s fine, I promise it is. We can forget I asked.” Carol was turning a deep cherry red, and Daryl could tell she thought he was uncomfortable, not at the idea of sex, but at the idea of sex with  _ her _ .

And that made sense, why she’d assume that, because what sixteen year old boy would turn down a pretty girl’s proposition like that? But much like when they kissed two years ago, Daryl found that when he thought of being close to Carol  _ like that _ he was flustered and shy and...eager. Enough so that it almost overshadowed his doubt—but not quite. He said, 

“It ain’t ‘cause of you. It’s just, you know, I ain’t never done nothin’ like that before.”

“Neither have I. That’s the point.”

“That was the point when we did this kind of thing before, and look how that turned out.” That was the first time Daryl had ever acknowledged their practice kiss since the day it happened. Carol had the decency not to point this out.

“I don’t know what you feel when you think about that day, but I always thought it was nice,” she said, giving Daryl pause.

“Nice?” he asked, his brows knitting together. Carol shrugged.

“Yeah. You were good at it. I’ve always been disappointed that you left.”

All this time Daryl had been assuming Carol pitied him behind his back about how foolish he’d been that day, but if he was understanding correctly, she not only didn’t fault him for his actions, but she actually thought he’d been a good kisser?

“Bullshit,” he said, but she shook her head.

“No bullshit, I mean it. It was really nice. I think this could be nice, too. You don’t have to do it, but if you’re worried about making a fool of yourself, don’t. I could never see you as a fool.”

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip.

“You’d really want your first time to be with me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “There’s no one I trust more than you.”

Daryl thought about it, trying to make a quick pros and cons list in his head, but he wasn’t nearly coherent enough to put one together. He was going to have to go with his gut.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“You mean it?” Carol asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.” 

A shy smile spread across Carol’s face.

“Do you wanna...we could do it now. If you want,” she said. Daryl’s breath caught in his throat.

“ _ Here? _ ” he asked, voice going up an octave on its own accord. In response, Carol reached into her pocket and pulled out a few square, foil packages. Daryl stared at them as though they were bombs about to detonate.

“I felt so dumb when I bought these as the drug store,” Carol said, turning the condoms over in her hands. “I was so sure the cashier was gonna tell me I was too young or something stupid.” She met his eye. “I’m ready. I wanna do it. Will you do it with me?” 

“I might be bad at it,” Daryl said when he managed to find his voice. He felt like they should wait, but for what? It wasn’t like he was going to go home and practice.

“I might be, too. Wanna maybe be bad at it together?” 

He went with gut once again, his brain still out of commission. 

“Okay.”

He let Carol guide them through it. They set out blankets and pillows down on the floor and stripped naked. She was soft and beautiful and Daryl touched her all over her body, learning every unique twist and turn of her shape. She led him inside her and he had an absurd desire to thank her when he felt her grip around him. She didn’t cum, and he came too fast, but it was sweet. It was safe. It was awash with trust and affection.

“You’re my best friend,” Carol told him afterwards. They laid on their backs holding hands.

“You’re mine, too,” Daryl said, fighting the urge to doze.

“Is that all I am?” she asked. He turned his head and frowned at her.

“How do you mean?” 

“I dunno. I guess, how do you feel about me?”

Daryl was at a loss.

“You’re my favorite person,” he told her. “I care ‘bout you more than anyone.”

“And you’d call that friendship?” she asked.

“What would you call it?”

Carol sighed, her hand slipping from his.

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “Nothing. Never mind.” 

—-

The week before summer break Daryl found Carol crying in the treehouse. She was curled up with her knees tight against her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins. Daryl went to her immediately.

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

It took her a minute to compose herself. She took a few steadying breaths and lifted her head. At the sight of Daryl she started all over again. Daryl stroked her hair until she was all cried out. It wasn’t until then did he ask her again what was wrong.

“I’m leaving,” she said, tears and snot and spit all over her pretty, freckled face. Daryl shook his head.

“What do you mean?”

“My daddy—he got a promotion and they’re relocating him to Memphis.”

Daryl regarded her blankly.

“What are you sayin’?”

“I’m moving to Tennessee.” 

“No you’re not,” Daryl said simply. “That don’t make sense. You can’t move away.” Carol’s lower lip wobbled dangerously.

“I tried to get him to let me stay. I told him I didn’t want to start at a brand new school when I’m only two years from graduating, and surely there was some way I could stay, but he said no. He said he already put in his two weeks and the movers will be here next Saturday.”

Daryl felt like the wind was knocked out of him.

“Next Saturday,” he repeated, as though it would be different coming out of his own mouth.

“Next Saturday,” she confirmed with a sniffle.

“But…” He couldn’t think of anything and instead shrugged helplessly.

“I know,” she said. He searched her eyes.

“You can’t leave,” he said, voice cracking. Fresh tears spilled over and down her cheeks.

“They won’t let me stay.” She leaned into him and buried her face in his chest, letting a few muted sobs rattle through her. “Tell me it’ll be okay,” she whispered. “If you say it I’ll believe it.”

Nothing had ever felt less okay. He held her close, afraid to let go.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, but he didn’t believe it at all.

—-

He didn’t go to her house to say goodbye. He couldn’t; he wouldn’t.

Instead, he laid on his back in the treehouse and stared at the ceiling, picturing her face and wondering if over time he would forget it. Doubtful, he thought, she was a permanent fixture whether she was there in the flesh or not.

He was startled out of his melancholy reverie when the treehouse door opened, and her head of auburn curls popped up. She searched him out and gave a sad smile, the rims of her eyes red. She pulled herself the rest of the way in and sat beside him on the floor.

“You didn’t come to see me off,” she said, not accusingly, just factually.

“Thought y’all were s’posed to be on the road by now,” Daryl said, not seeing the point in confirming her statement, as it was clearly true.

“I made them wait; said there was one last thing I had to do.”

“What’s that?” he asked flatly, still staring at the ceiling, unable to look at her. That is, until she took matters into her own hands and leaned over him, her hair falling over her shoulders and tickling his cheeks.

“This,” she whispered. She bent down and pressed her lips to his. After a beat, he responded, bringing a hand up to her back and pressing her closer. She sank into him, opening her mouth, and they kissed languidly for a full minute until she was forced to pull away.

He stared at her, the corners of his eyes stinging. She brushed her thumb along his jaw and across this lips.

“That wasn’t practice,” she whispered, and as quickly as she had come, she was gone. She slipped away, the door clicking shut, no words of farewell coming from either of them.

Daryl stayed there on the floor for some time, but then the walls started to close in on him, and the air seemed suffocating. 

Pushing himself upright, he swiped at his traitorous tears and gave one last glance around the room they had claimed so many years ago. But it wasn’t his without her. He wasn’t welcome anymore—he could feel it all the way down to the roots in the ground below.

He climbed down the ladder and meandered away, leaving the treehouse behind him, left abandoned for good, alone to collect dust. 


	4. A Frog Queen without Her King

“I ain’t bein’ no third wheel,” Daryl said, casting a flat look at Rick as he took a swig of her beer. He sat in an armchair in his friend’s apartment. It was too soft, and he sank down too far in it. “You been seein’ your girl long enough to handle a solo date. You’re a big boy, Rick.”

It had been over a year since Rick finalized his divorce with Lori, and over the past couple months Daryl had exercised the patience of a saint listening to him talk about the new girl he’d been seeing. 

“Michonne wants to meet you,” Rick said, leaning back in his identical armchair, legs kicked up on an ottoman. “And I already told her you were coming.”

“Well untell her,” Daryl said. 

“C’mon, do it for me.” Rick cleared his throat, and added in a quiet rush, “‘Sides, you won’t be a third wheel, ‘cause she’s bringing a friend.”

Daryl set his jaw. 

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“Please? Michonne’s been going on and on about this woman. She got out of a bad marriage a ways back and Michonne wants her to get back in the dating game. You don’t gotta marry her or anything, just be a gentleman and encourage her to try putting herself out there again. That’s all Michonne’s expecting.” 

“Rick. You want  _ me _ to be the poster boy for what a gentleman’s s’posed to be?” Daryl was still wearing his ratty, construction clothes from work, and had tracked mud inside without a second thought.

“Look, maybe you ain’t prince charming, but you’re a good man, and from what Michonne’s told me that’s all this woman needs. A good man.”

“I ain’t datin’ material,” Daryl said, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, that’s the other thing. Maybe a date would do you some good.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him.

“Hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

“When’s the last time you had a real relationship? Have you ever? You’re thirty-six years old. Are you just gonna live off of one night stands ‘til your dick doesn’t work anymore and you’re left all alone in that in that trashy studio you call a home?” 

“That was the plan, yeah,” Daryl said with a shrug. Rick sighed. 

“One night, that’s all I’m askin’ you for. It’d earn me some points with Michonne, and I really do think it’d be good for you.” Daryl scowled at Rick’s pathetic puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“Next time we go out I’m gettin’ piss drunk, and you’re gonna pay for every round.”

Rick beamed.

“Deal.”

—-

Daryl rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and tugged on the collar of his shirt until Rick swatted his hand away.

“Will you stop acting like a child? Carl’s less fussy than you,” he said. Daryl sneered, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he trailed behind Rick towards the front of the restaurant. 

“This is a dumbass idea,” he said for at least the eightieth time. “You ain’t even told me this broad’s name.”

“Carol,” Rick said. “You rhyme. Maybe it’s meant to be.”

_ Of fucking course, _ Daryl thought, groaning internally. Involuntarily, his last image of Carol’s face—peering over him, kiss-flushed and weepy—popped into his mind. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head, willing the memory to disappear. As much as he didn’t want to do this before, he was even less enthusiastic now. The last thing he needed was a whole evening being reminded of the person he refused to categorize as  _ the one that got away _ .

“Ready?” Rick asked, holding the heavy door open.

“No,” Daryl said. “Let’s get it over with.”

The inside of the restaurant was crowded and claustrophobic. It was full of all the people who treated themselves to a night out on Saturdays. The lights were a weird color, and the music was too loud, and Daryl wanted to turn right back around. Instead, he powered through, trailing behind Rick with a sulk. 

“They’re they are, over there,” Rick said, nodding up ahead. Daryl looked mildly to where Rick was gesturing and stopped dead in his tracks. 

He saw Michonne—Rick had shown him enough pictures of her to know her on sight—but he didn’t pay her any mind, because beside her was Carol. Not some blind date Carol, but  _ his _ Carol. She was older now, with a few lines starting to show on her face, and her hair was prematurely grey and short, but even still she was unmistakable. 

“Brother, what is it?” Rick asked when Daryl continued to stand stock still.

Impossible, he thought, it was impossible. She was in Tennessee, living some big, important life. That’s what he’d always imagined. She wasn’t here in Georgia, and she certainly wasn’t sitting ten feet away from him after all these years.

But then she looked up, and after a beat, recognition washed over her face and her expression mirrored his own. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes wide. Everything around him—the bustle, the music, the weird lights—all went away. He watched her push her chair back slowly. He vaguely registered her walking towards him. He was surprised when she was suddenly standing right in front of him. They searched each other’s faces. 

And then Carol was throwing her arms around his broad shoulders. He responded enthusiastically, wrapping himself tight around her and hugging her so tight he lifted her clear off the ground. They embraced until it became ridiculous, and a little longer after that. They finally pulled apart, still only a breath away from one another. Daryl cupped her face.

“I was so pissed,” Carol said. “When Michonne told me my date was someone named Daryl. Like, how dare some asshole have your name? It never once occurred to me that it could be…” she trailed off, and Daryl nodded.

“Same. I felt the same. How are...what have you...Fuck, I don’t even know where to fuckin’ start.” 

“Still as eloquent as you ever were,” Carol said fondly. He laughed.

“Shut up.”

“I think we’re making a bit of a scene.” 

Daryl tore his eyes from her, remembering where they were. Rick and Michonne were watching on, baffled, and a few other people at the tables around them were staring at them curiously.

“Who gives a shit?” he said quietly, and Carol grinned ear-to-ear.

Eventually they found their way to their table. Daryl let her do the explaining—the frogs, the treehouse, the move; she left out the more risque parts—and his eyes didn’t stray from her the whole night. Michonne cooed about how adorable it all was. Rick boasted about how he was responsible for Daryl being there at all. Daryl only cared about what Carol had to say. She gave a Cliff’s Notes version of what she’d been up to for the past twenty years. He knew she was putting in purposeful gaps. Twenty years wasn’t long enough for him to forget what she looked like when she was being evasive, and that’s what her face was like when she spoke about her ex-husband, and he bristled, feeling murderous if his suspicions about him were true.

“Do you want to come over for coffee?” Carol asked him when dinner came to an end, after he insisted on paying for her meal and wine.

“Yeah,” Daryl said shyly, ignoring Rick’s smirk. “Yeah, I could do that.”

—-

“It’s not much,” Carol warned when she slipped her key into the lock of her apartment door. “I can’t afford anything fancy.”

“You should see where I live,” Daryl said. “Might as well have moved into the treehouse. ‘Bout the same size.”

Carol gave a small, bittersweet smile at the thought of their old homebase. 

“Do you think it’s still there? Or do you think someone took it down?” 

“Last time I was out that way was when my daddy died ‘bout seven years back. Didn’t have it in me to go look, but everything looked the same to me. Might be in bad shape, but I bet it’s still there.”

“Maybe some other kids found it and fixed it up,” she said wistfully. “A couple lonely kids who needed it, like we did.”

“Maybe they did.”

“I hope so.” 

She turned the lock with a click and pushed the door open. She was right when she said it was nothing fancy, but she’d made it her own. There were no posters of boy bands or country artists, but there were paintings hanging up, and framed photos on the walls. Some people he recognized. Her mom, her dad, her old pet labrador retriever. Some he didn’t recognize. Friends from college, people from the life she’d led without him for two decades. He glanced around the room until his eyes landed on a picture that made his stomach twist.

“It’s the only one I have of us,” Carol said quietly when she saw where he was looking. 

It was a shitty, old school selfie Carol had taken of them with a polaroid camera she’d snuck from her daddy’s study. They were twelve or thirteen. She was cracking up in a big toothy grin, while he was smiling reluctantly, eyes trained on her, and jesus christ, had he always looked at her like that? Like she was an angel in the flesh?

“I remember that,” he said. “That was when you said you was gonna be a photographer. Your daddy was so pissed you wasted all his film takin’ pictures of frogs and trees and flowers.”

“I got some good shots, but I think that one was my best.” 

Daryl looked down at her. Once upon a time she’d been the taller one, but he had a good handful of inches on her now. His noodly arms that once climbed to the top of a tree were strong and built now. The little girl with wild curls and freckles was now a grown woman with proper curves and blue eyes with crows feet in the corners. She was so different, and somehow exactly the same.

“I wrote you letters,” she said, and he didn’t miss the hurt in her tone. “You never wrote me back.”

She was right, he didn’t. Every week like clockwork he’d gotten a letter, talking about how much bigger Memphis was, and how lonely she was, and how much she missed him, until one day he got one that said it would be the last, and that she hoped he was well and had a good life. That last letter had a single smudge on one of the words, and Daryl always wondered if it had been from a tear.

“I couldn’t,” he said.

“Why?”

“Wanted you to forget me,” he said. “Thought it might hurt less if I convinced myself you never thought about me no more.” 

“Did it? Hurt less?” 

Daryl shook his head.

“No.” 

“I never forgot you,” she said then. “Not ever.” 

“Me either. I still have your letters.” 

“You do?”

“Every single one.” 

Carol trained her eyes to the ceiling, blinking back tears. She pursed her lips, nodding absently. The two of them were still standing by the door, making no moves to sit. 

“Did he hurt you?” Daryl asked then. “Your ex?” 

Carol steeled her expression and smiled humorlessly at him.

“He did,” she confirmed, and Daryl swallowed hard.

“I hate him,” he said, with the exact same amount of conviction Carol had said about his father when they were fourteen. She let out a breathy laugh.

“Me too.” 

“I’m sorry. Maybe if I had replied to your letters...if we had stayed in touch…” If they had stayed in touch, what? What did he think would have happened? He didn’t bother finishing his sentence, but Carol didn’t let him off so easy. She took him gently by the forearm.

“What is it?” she asked. He chewed on his bottom lip.

“Remember, after we...in the treehouse? You asked me what you were to me; what I felt for you.”

“I remember,” Carol said softly.

“I didn’t have the words for it then. I barely do now. But I know what it was, and it wasn’t friendship.”

“What was it, then?”

Daryl took a deep breath and shrugged.

“Love?” he said. “I’m pretty sure it was love.” He glanced down at where her fingers were gently pressing into the skin of his arm. “I ain’t sure if it ever stopped bein’ love, truth be told.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, voice wavering. 

“It’s stupid,” Daryl said. “Holdin’ a torch for someone for twenty fuckin’ years; for someone you only knew when you was a kid. I did, though.” He forced himself to meet her eye. “I do.” 

“I used to think it was puppy love,” Carol said slowly. “But nobody’s ever come close to you.” 

Daryl’s not sure who moved first—maybe they leaned in at the same time—but their lips came together and it was like no time had passed at all. Her tongue slid over his and he was transported to the wood floor of the treehouse, heart beating his throat like an anxious teenager. His hands slipped under her shirt and felt up the twists and turns of her shape, familiar and perfect. 

They were better at it now. He nibbled on the spot below her ear while she undid the buttons on his flannel. The stripped down to nothing on their way to the bed, leaving a trail behind them like they used to do with M&Ms when they went exploring in the forest. They rolled around in the sheets, flush together, flesh on flesh. 

He’d learned over the years how to push the right buttons, and he got her there twice, absolutely obsessed with her body and not ready to stop exploring right away. She pulled out a foil packet, and neither of them blushed at the implications. She slipped it on him while he sucked on her breasts that had changed shape with age, but were no less fantastic. 

That same impulse to thank her overtook him when he slid inside her. He never felt that way with anyone else; it felt like a mutual exchange with others, but with her it was a privilege. Instead of saying it aloud, he said it with long, slow strokes that elicited whimpers from her. 

He still came too fast, but it couldn’t be helped—he’d been waiting for this for twenty years, and he was only human.

They held hands in the afterglow, smiles teasing on both of their mouths. 

“You’re my best friend,” Carol said. “You’ve always been my best friend.”

“You been mine, too.” He turned to look at her, and she did the same. “You been so much more than that. Sorry it took so long to realize that.” 

Carol shook her head.

“It’s like when we went frog catching that first time,” she said. “Sometimes you don’t get what you want right away. Sometimes you gotta be patient and it’ll come to you.” 

“Guess so,” Daryl said. “But I’m real damn tired of waitin’.” 

Carol grinned and snuggled in close to him. He wrapped an arm around her and rested his chin on the top of her head.

“You don’t hafta wait anymore,” she said. She huffed a laugh and asked, “Wanna be friends again? Maybe more than friends once we’ve caught up on all the years we’ve missed?”

Daryl traced circles along her upper arm.

“I might not be good at bein’ more than friends,” he warned her. “Never really done it before.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll be more than friends with you anyway, and I’ll tell you if you’re being an asshole.”

Daryl smirked at the reprise of their first ever conversation.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered.

“I think we were always supposed to end up here,” she said.

“How do you figure that?” 

“Because,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Who’s the Queen of the Frogs without her King?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was fun. now that this cute, little palate cleanse is out of the way i am about to canon ball right back into scrap metal, which will definitely not be taking a gut wrenching, angsty turn of tone. anyway! if that's of interest to you, keep an eye out. more info to come on that front.
> 
> toodles,  
-diz

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a really short multi-chap au that i'm using as a palate cleanse before i jump back into scrap metal at the start of the month. this will almost certainly be done sometime this week. we're only looking at about three chapters, four max. i was going to post it all at once, but i couldn't stand looking at a finished chapter and not shoving it onto the internet, so here we are. 
> 
> idk. just something for fun.
> 
> <3 u all,  
-diz


End file.
